>>264486>My heart is a fist of barbed wire"Her door clicks open and nearly clips her in the face. It could be a sudden draft, but Amy is doubtful. Her fist clenches shut around the marble. It is pretty. She could look at it for hours, the way it catches the light. It’s almost like a sweet. Want curls up in her chest like a cat. She thinks she’ll keep it. A gift from the big grey orphanage, just to her.
“That’s mine,” comes a thin, cold voice, and she sees the boy across the hall for the first time. His room is directly across from hers. He is pretty, she thinks, like a drawing from a book. The lines of his face are smooth and pale. His hair is dark and neatly parted. He holds himself very rigidly, like a miniature soldier or a wind-up toy. “That’s mine,” he repeats, sharply.
(In which Tom Riddle is not the only strange child to come out of Wool's.)"
https://archiveofourown.org/works/18224369
>In the language of flowers"(I am the one who says 'fuck you') - Benjamin Garcia, 'Ode to the Corpse Flower'.
Petunia drips magic the way she drips anger. Sparingly. Subtly. Nothing overt or obnoxious. Nothing that attracts the stares of other children or the suspicion of adults. Just things that help her. Her dolls line back up after the football Lily was kicking about ruins their perfect symmetry. Her bed makes itself while she brushes her teeth meticulously. Tea that is slightly too hot or too cold settles to the perfect temperature. Magic maintains the realm of order she has built around herself.
(A witch!Petunia and muggle!Lily AU, covering the Marauders' years at Hogwarts and the First Wizarding War)."
https://archiveofourown.org/works/14074770